Ignore the Memories
by Jim Carnival
Summary: When Goosewing realizes that his greatest success could have been his greatest failure, Duckula is there to comfort him. ჯ Goosewing/Duckula. One-shot.


To Duckula, the castle had never before been as warm and homey as it was now.

With his elbow propped on the arm of the threadbare sofa, he gazed around the room. Nothing was different. Paint still peeled from the walls. The floorboards still sagged, rotted by the centuries of damp and mold. The Moroccan rug still smelled of mildew. Dust still layered the mantle and paintings in a coat of blue fuzz. Everything was still dilapidated, ugly, and old.

Yet the gloom and unease was no longer present. So often before, Duckula hated this castle with a passion. He would have traded it for peanuts, but preferably for a life of comfort somewhere far away from Transylvania.

Now, perhaps for the first time, he felt at home. Peaceful. As though despite all the lingering darkness, he finally belonged.

Duckula rested his chin on his fist. He raised his eyes to meet those of a portrait of one of his forefathers. Not too long ago, a mere glance at that painting would have made his feathers bristle and a chill slither up his back. Now he felt compelled to smile at it.

"What is it that is so amusing?" Goosewing asked from the other end of the sofa. The smile in his voice was a pleasant slur. It sent a wave of warmth radiating through Duckula.

He turned his head to rest his cheek against his shoulder and looked at Goosewing. "Nothing's funny. Well, funny as in sort of odd I suppose, but nothing you'd really get a chuckle out of. Unless you were on Broadway. That kind of funny."

"Ah," Goosewing said. He looked as blank as a class blackboard in summer. "If you do explaining to me, protest I certainly would not."

Duckula adjusted himself on the sofa, tucking his legs beneath himself. He carefully covered his knees with his cape. Goosewing watched with interest as Duckula concentrated on smoothing out every wrinkle in the satin.

"Is it something not you would like to share?" Goosewing scooted close enough to offer his hand. "That is fine, mein pet."

Duckula automatically reached to take Goosewing's hand. He curled his fingers through Goosewing's and squeezed in appreciation.

"It's really nothing," Duckula said. He felt foolish to concern Goosewing with something so silly. "I was only thinking about how different this old place is now."

"Ist . . . different?"

"I can't put my finger on it," Duckula said. "Just look around. Everything's old and falling apart, dim and dusty and disgusting. But funny enough, it doesn't feel as though it should be. It all feels warm and bright and safe. Isn't that odd?"

Goosewing watched Duckula with his eyes squinted behind his spectacles. The smile never faded. Instead of laughing or questioning further, Goosewing only shook his head.

" _Nein_. Odd to me it is not. I too am feeling of the same."

Duckula clutched Goosewing's hand a bit tighter. "Really? How? Haven't you always had a pleasant home?"

"Pleasant, _ja_. But empty und lonely it now is." He stroked his thumb over the ridges of Duckula's knuckles. "While this terrible haunted castle of yours all the while is feeling to me more like home as well."

Duckula averted his gaze, unsure of what to say. Finally he gave a stilted little laugh.

"I guess things can change a lot sometimes, can't they? Isn't that strange?" All at once, a sparkle of excitement illuminated his eyes. "It's what I always wanted! Change. Because everything was so dreadfully boring before. Same old, all the time. Never anything new to look forward to.

"But now somehow it's the same as it always was, only ever so different. New things don't happen much. We do the same things all the time, but it never feels dull. It's so much different than how it used to be."

Goosewing examined the grey upholstery as though it were the most captivating thing he had seen. His grip on Duckula's hand loosened. With a stifled sigh, he mumbled out a " _ja_ , I see."

Duckula went on animatedly, not noticing Goosewing's sudden unease.

"Remember how things were when you always came up with those ridiculous innovations to try sending me into space or crushing me or skewering me?"

The pang that crushed Goosewing's heart far exceeded his urge to correct Duckula with a "inventions, mein love, not innovations." His hands went cold. On impulse, he regained his grip on Duckula's hand with vise-like force, enough to make Duckula jolt. Duckula, however, recovered instantaneously and rattled on like a pebble in a soup can.

"It feels like it was so long ago, or something like a dream. How else could it all have changed so much? You went from hating me and loathing me and thinking I was the nastiest villain undead, and wanting me for-real dead, to being my best friend. But to be fair, I never thought you were very peachy precious either," he added with a laugh.

To his surprise, Goosewing didn't join him in the reminiscent giggling. Duckula froze like a pillar-box upon realizing that Goosewing's shoulders were quaking. Not with laughter, but with choked little breaths broken by silent sobs.

"Goosewing?" Duckula's voice cracked. He leaned over to peer beneath the brim of Goosewing's deerstalker cap. His heart went cold as a hailstone when he saw that Goosewing's spectacles were fogged and his eyes were mirrors with tears.

"Goosewing, what's wrong? What—what did I . . . I didn't mean—" Desperation made Duckula's thoughts trip and tangle. Unable to articulate, Duckula sank against Goosewing. He wrapped his arms around his middle and buried his face into his rough flannel waistcoat.

All Duckula heard from above him was Goosewing's muttered German. It was barely audible. Duckula squeezed his eyes shut, his heart throbbing behind his ribs.

"I'm-I'm sorry, Count Duckula," Goosewing managed to whisper. "I am so sorry . . . ."

Duckula pulled back from Goosewing, almost relieved.

"Sorry? You're sorry? Goosewing, don't be ridiculous! Whatever is there to be sorry for?"

Goosewing couldn't answer. He kept his teeth clamped together to keep his sobs stuck in his throat. He shook his head. Without a word, he pushed Duckula back and swiped off his spectacles, keeping his head lowered the entire time. Every motion was jerky and harsh with frustration.

Duckula watched him, his eyes squints of confusion. "Surely you're not . . . ." His voice trailed off. When he spoke again, he was unusually quiet.

"Surely you can't be apologizing for all that ruckus of ages ago. I never think of it, Goosewing, but when I do it's rather funny. I'm not angry about it. If I were, you would know, because I'm quite the expert at tussling as well as holding pointless grudges." He grinned, waiting for Goosewing to smile. He never did, and Duckula slumped.

"I could have hurt you, Duckula," Goosewing said hollowly. His words were minced by chokes and sporadic sniffles. "All my time I spent after you. Angry. Hating. Fearing for the village und its people. Always trying my best I was doing, for no goal other than your death. I wanted so badly to see you fall. But if I had done the succeeding?"

Silence fell, suffocating and cold as a blanket of snow. Duckula never glanced away. Goosewing's cap swathed his face in shadow, but couldn't stop the light from catching the fat tears that scrolled down the side of his beak.

"If I had succeeded, this would not be. I would be alone. This castle darker, more terrible. You would not be beside of me, so warm the way that you are—" He broke off. In desperation, he pushed his fingers against his closed eyelids and rubbed. He stayed slouched over, his elbows against his knees.

"Goosewing. . ." Duckula swallowed back an itchy weight in his throat. Hesitantly, unsure of what to do, he edged closer to Goosewing. The sofa cushion sank beneath his weight and jostled Goosewing.

As though reaching toward a sleeping viper, Duckula slowly stretched out his hand to brush Goosewing's sleeve. No response. Duckula dipped his fingers just beneath the cuff of his sleeve and smoothed the side of his finger back and forth over Goosewing's wrist. Goosewing flinched, and Duckula moved to stroke his palm instead. Gently pressing into the base of his thumb and trailing his fingers in a soothing tickle over the creases of his palm, Duckula began to murmur.

"All of that nonsense is far away. It doesn't matter that you hated me back then or wanted to hurt me. You never did, so it doesn't matter. It's all in the past, and means posilutely not a thing."

"I know that." Goosewing spread his hand to flatten the wrinkles. As if startled from a trance, Duckula glanced up. Goosewing said, "I know that matter it does not. But thinking that my success could have been very well my greatest failure . . . it is painful."

"It needn't be," Duckula said vehemently. "You needn't worry yourself stupid over it. I'm here with you, Goosewing. I'm alive. I'm safe. I'm here with you."

Before Goosewing could protest, Duckula pushed his arm away as though it were a railroad block. Duckula immediately curled his hands over Goosewing's shoulders and hauled himself into Goosewing's lap, and landed with a little "oof" that he moaned into Goosewing's neck. His cape billowed before draping delicately over his back and Goosewing's knees.

Goosewing had no chance to rebuke Duckula. He opened his mouth, but the words rolled out in a sigh. Duckula's fingers massaged his shoulders, digging into the knots of tension. Duckula moved closer and closer to his neck, before finally sliding his flattened hands gently up the sides of Goosewing's soft throat to ruffle his feathers.

Goosewing curled his fingers into Duckula's backside, keeping him from raising off his lap. With breaths still huffy from sobs, he leaned forward until his beak pressed against Duckula's chest.

"Please, Duckula. Do not be so oblivious . . . it does make me feel so guilty."

"You don't need to feel guilty," Duckula said. "Don't you understand? All of that is in the past. The past doesn't matter to me, Goosewing. Do you think I care at all about it? If I did, I'd be utterly miserable. I don't think about who I used to be."

Confused, Goosewing said, "B-but it has been I, not you, who has done of the changing . . . ."

"Not like that," Duckula said. He gave Goosewing's shoulder a pat that was intended to be a slap. "I'm talking about my ancestors, you know. Why, if I always just dwelled on what I did when I was them, I'd be so depressed I should think I wouldn't want to step out of my room and show my face to anyone. All that killing and hunting and lying and bloodthirst . . . yecch! But," Duckula said softly, "none of that matters now. My ancestors might have been me, but that doesn't mean I'm them."

Goosewing stared at Duckula, blank as a new slate. "I feel that there ist sentiment within, mein pet, but understanding it I am not."

Duckula laughed. "Oh, Goosewing. I don't fully understand it myself." He rubbed his thumbs over Goosewing's cheeks as he spoke. "But that's not the point. The point is that I don't worry myself witless over things I can't change. Instead of being upset over all that, I make plans for the future. You know . . . to be rich, famous, a world-renowned celebrity."

This roused a slight smile from Goosewing. He kept his head lowered, but Duckula saw that smile.

"And y'know what else?" Duckula nuzzled his beak against Goosewing's, pleased with himself for having managed to calm him. "I also have fun with everything that happens now. Like being with you. Why should I feel bad about the past when now is the best time of my entire life?"

Goosewing sighed in quiet appreciation. "Duckula, you absolute fiend. I never can be feeling bad with you here, can I? Not even when I ought to be."

"Now let's not go on with that again." Duckula put his hands on Goosewing's shoulders for balance as he leaned back to glare at him. "You've no reason to be upset with yourself. Like Igor always said: you were only doing your job by hunting me down. You were terrible at your job," he added with a grin.

"Oh, sure of that I'm not," Goosewing said. He curled his fingers into Duckula's back, crumpling his cape and pushing him close. When Duckula responded by leaning his cheek against Goosewing's neck, Goosewing slid his arms around Duckula's middle and pressed him to his front, so close he could feel Duckula's ribs shift with each calm, slow breath.

Duckula complied for a long, comfortable moment. Finally, he tilted his head and lazily trailed his fingers up Goosewing's neck to flatten his fingers over his cheek. He pushed Goosewing's head to the side, and before Goosewing could anticipate what came next, Duckula pressed a long, gentle kiss to the side of his beak. He smiled through the kiss, and contentment spread through Goosewing warm and sweet like molasses. Goosewing sighed again, and the puff of air stirred Duckula's hair like a miniature whirlwind.

"You know . . . I think I did a good job," he said, his eyes falling shut. He and Duckula held each other for a long time.


End file.
